On paper this Golden Age of Crime novel published in 1934 should be a rollicking romp of a read. The tone is incongruously light-hearted and humourous, the narrative, which is told for the most part by the would-be murderer, is original, and, while the ending is not altogether unpredictable, it is at the very least satisfying if a little abrupt.

The book is divided into five parts, with the inclusion of an introduction in the modern British Library re-edition. The first four parts are told by Edward Powell, the last scion of an undistinguished Welsh family. Through the text of his diaries where he relates his failed attempts at killing his guardian and aunt, he comes across as a lazy, judgmental, entitled, resentful, deluded young man; an "essentially futile person", "a youth so very effeminate in appearance and taste" (p187). That that last trait should be perceived as another reprehensible flaw in Powell's character is, of course, a regrettable aspect redolent of the time of writing. The fifth part of the book retraces the whole story from the point of view of different character, filling in some of the gaps of Powell's narrative.

It is this unredeemed unpleasantness of the narrator that Hull allows to seeps so successfully through every page of the book that put me off. In addition to being all the things listed above, Powell is deeply uninteresting, either as a person or as a criminal, and as a result the story itself is not particularly gripping, even though it should be.